Gone Are The Days
by Cariganna
Summary: Voldemort has fallen, but the Wizarding World is still in turmoil. Snape must disappear until certain characters are safely stored in Azkaban. But who would have thought he would CHOOSE to allow Hermione to accompany him? HGSS. Rated M for later chaps
1. The Beginning of the End

**In the Beginning of the End**

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**Disclaimer: The characters portrayed here-in are patented property of J.K. Rowling (all glory to her name!), I merely play with her brain-babies.**

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Harry's green eyes never left her through the ceremony. In the two years that he, Ron, and Hermione had spent away from Hogwarts she had lost so much weight. Her hair burned fiery red, but her temper no longer matched. Even her sharp wit seemed dulled. True, it had been a long two years. There was no Dumbledore to give hope and reassurance, to beam and to twinkle, to mutter odd words like "Nitwit" and "Blubber". It was a darker world despite the noticeable failures of Voldemort. With each Horcrux that Harry defeated, his movements became more erratic and desperate. Only Nagini and the thin vestige of a soul that still resided in his cusp of a body remained.

Even that though, did not account for Ginny.

Hermione, sitting on Harry's right, noticed his vigil with a sad smile. The years had marked her too. Outwardly, she showed few signs of the preceding months. Her skin was tanned from their constant campouts making her thin smattering of freckles stand less vibrantly against her cheeks and nose. Her hair was as bushy as ever, but she had begun to style it differently. While having the added benefit of staying out of her way, the single French braid running down the length of her back set off her facial structure and displayed her dainty neck. Only thin scars from a Throttling Curse marred its complexion. She too had lost weight, though not to her friend's degree. It was mostly a toning of muscles; years in the library had not given her an especially fit physique.

But beyond the physical transformation, there was a new atmosphere about her. She was less centered on knowledge for knowledge's sake. Of course, she had insisted that she and the boys follow the seventh year syllabus so that in the future, they could take their exit exams and graduate as Ginny was now doing. When she had first informed them of their academic schedule, only those hopeful words, _in the future_, had prompted Harry to follow her directions. For Harry, it was comforting, in a small way, to know Hermione thought of the future. Lately, he had dreaded that word, fearing he would never live to see it. Maybe someday a few years from now, he would be sitting in a University, rolling his eyes at Hermione's color-coded notes and nudging Ron in the ribs. That thought had brought a grim smile to his face and Ron had teased him mercilessly about going soft. Hermione had teased him too, but her watering eyes had betrayed her.

With her recent (somewhat painful) withdrawal from books, she had become somewhat more observant. In her school years, Hermione had noted all the details of her surroundings, cataloguing them to her impressive memory. She had been too absorbed in the library though, to truly begin to interpret them. The occasional epiphany had come when details had fit into a textbook situation. Unfortunately, such elusive concepts as could not be accurately written down had stubbornly eluded her. In her first few months without the distraction of Hogwarts' library, she had been surprised by how little she knew about her two best friends.

Harry was dangerous. His moods swung from carefree to wrathful in seconds. When in the first week of their excursion, Pig had dropped a letter from Lupin into his cereal on accident, he had flown into a rage that lasted the better part of the morning. A simple charm had the letter fine in the flick of a wand, but that did not pacify the raging boy. Hermione watched his temper sadly and tried to remember when this change in personality had taken place. With a start, she realized it had been Sirius' death, almost three years ago. It had taken her two weeks and several covert trips to Muggle public libraries to come to a conclusion. He was suffering from depression. Maybe even Survivor's Guilt, but for that, Hermione could not figure out _why_. She had stopped trying though, and began to search for a way to help.

Her attempts at psycho- analysis fell terribly short though. More often than not, she simply enraged him further. Surprisingly, she learned how to calm him by watching Ron.

It seemed Ron too, was not the sweet bumbler, she had always thought him to be. He was much more astute than she had given him credit for. His gentle teasing was always well placed. He seemed to instinctively know when he could push Harry and when it was best to leave him be. Hermione envied the gentle way in which he could lure Harry out of the barriers he seemed to have raised. She had also realized that he liked her. His clumsiness was due to nerves; his obnoxious antics, an effort to get her attention. She did not know when she had stopped liking her red-headed companion. From as near as she could tell, her affections had petered out sometime around their fifth year. It was with a wistful sigh that Hermione put those thoughts aside. Perhaps, if she had noticed his attention earlier, they would be in a different situation, but then again, perhaps not. She valued their friendship and was content to let it stay as that.

Hermione, with her eyes absently trained onto Ginny, began to analyze her best (and only) girlfriend. She knew how much their sudden departure had affected her younger friend. At Dumbledore's funeral, Harry had broken up with her. Ginny and Percy were the only two Weasley's Hermione knew that were logical though. Put in her place, Ron would have thrown a fit, and wheedled his way back to Harry's side. Ginny though, respected Harry's concern for her safety. She had known it was probably wisest though, and had even talked to Hermione about it. She wasn't dumb though. Even though the break was for an admiral reason, her loss had been palpable. She missed him.

Still, Ginny had been strong. She knew that in a year she would graduate and be free to rekindle their affections. Until then, she would devote herself to her coursework and to Quidditch. She stubbornly refused to become one of those lovelorn girls who wasted away when their hearts were broken.

But then, Hermione and Ron had gone all noble on her and deserted her too. She had been effectively cut off from her closest friends. Even the occasional owl in Hermione's rushed scrawl had not been enough to bring her out of the hole she had dug for herself.

And with the height of activity from the Order, even her family seemed too busy to notice her. Ginny was alone, terribly alone.

Hermione stood as the crowd began to clap. Like in the Muggle world, caps (albeit these were pointed and lacked tassels) were thrown heartily into the air and chorus of whoops and cheers rose to a crescendo. The trio rushed forward to congratulate Ginny, but Molly had beaten them to it. Hermione and Ron joined the bone crushing hug, but Harry stood to the side, a small, sad smile betraying his distress.

He missed her. Possibly more than she missed him.

As layers of people, peeled away from the redhead, she caught his eye. Their heartrending, somewhat awkward, gaze silenced those around them. Neither noticed though, caught in a suspension that was all their own.

"Oi! What's that?" Ron's voice cut through the moment. Hermione was about to nudge him rudely in the ribs but she followed his finger to the Dark Forest. In it, forms swirled in the shadows. Their menacing forms swelling towards them. In moments they would be in the courtyard.

Headmaster McGonagall stepped from behind the podium where she had been standing, and raised her arms. Her robes rippled around her but nothing happened.

Suddenly, the floor beneath her trembled. A blue opalescent wall rose on the outskirts of the courtyard. Its rise was measured first in inches but its growth grew exponentially. Within seconds it stretched as far up as Hermione could see. As the graduates and their guests surged forward, Hermione slowly rotated on spot, her eyes upward. The blue wall stretched the length of the castle and encompassed the Great Lake. Beside her, Ron stifled an inappropriate laugh as the Death Eaters collided head on with the wall, sending them flying a few meters in the opposite direction. The wall must be invisible from the other side.

On the other side, several Death Eaters placed their hands timidly on the shimmering wall. Watching with curiosity, Hermione thought they must have looked like warped mimes from the other side. After the masked terrors had determined that yes, the wall did encompass the whole of the castle, or at least, most of it, they began hurling curse over hex at it.

A hand, placed lightly on her shoulder, scared Hermione out of her silent observance. "Didn't you hear McGonagall?" Ron whispered, as though his voice could carry over the 100 or so yards to where the Death Eaters paced.

Her blank look answered him.

"She's not sure how long the wards'll hold. She can't control them like Dumbledore could. She asked us to help make sure the students are safe." Hermione nodded and allowed Ron to take her hand and lead her to the castle entrance.

McGonagall and Harry stood by the door. Both looked at the mass of black cloak swirling outside the perimeter with grim faces. Ron and Hermione entered first, then Harry. McGonagall was the last to enter. As the doors closed and a series of no less than twenty- one locks slid into place, the headmaster stared at the wall. Hermione followed her gaze. A thin web of gold thread seemed to appear, crisscrossed over the stone bricks. Its light grew stronger until it seemed dazzling in the darkened foyer.

McGonagall raised her arms once more and brought her palms together. With this gesture, the web followed suit. Where it had once covered only the marble, it now swathed the master door and the windows that framed it and, Hermione suspected, every other nook and cranny of the school.

Hermione drew her gaze from the web of light and gave the headmaster an appraising look. She had always known that McGonagall was a powerful witch. It took a great amount of skill and concentration to become an Animagus. Yet she had not thought her capable of the display of wandless magic that she had just seen. Even Dumbledore would have been tired.

As though reading her mind, McGonagall said in a quiet voice unlike her own, "I'm merely activating them. They're Dumbledore's inventions. If he had been here the night he died," –her voice cracked- "he would have risen them himself."

Hermione nodded, the corners of her mouth dropping just a bit. They stood that way, paralyzed, each of them swallowed with their own personal thought of dread or death or worry. Drawing herself to her full height, McGonagall took a piece of tattered parchment from her inner pocket and handed it to her Hermione.

"I expect you to keep me informed." Her manner was brisk once more as she swept out of the entryway, leaving Hermione staring somewhat dumbly after her. She stared down at the ratty piece of parchment. It took her a slow second to place it as the Marauder's Map. Unwilling to break the static moment, she glanced at her friends faces. Ron looked terrified; Harry, resigned.

"This is it, mates." Harry intoned dully, his green eyes peaking from beneath his mop of unruly hair. "You can still turn back."

It was a ritual. Whenever it got dangerous, he would ask that question. Whenever he would ask that question, Hermione and Ron would invent some outrageous reason to stay with him. In a strange way it was almost comforting, grounding.

Ron shrugged affably, "I'm pregnant, bub. You've knocked me up and now you've got to stick with the consequences. We Weasleys don't believe in single motherhood." His smile was genuine as he rubbed his make-believe belly.

A small smile cracked Harry's face. "And you?"

Ron elbowed him in the ribs. "Don't chase her off, mate! We'll need her color-coded notes for University." Silently, Hermione applauded his subtle mention of the future. It would bolster Harry's spirits.

Picking up her part, Hermione grinned wickedly. "You stole my line, Ronald." -she always called him Ronald when she was irked, even in jest-"Although, now that you mention it, you and Harry would make a magnificent couple. Should I begin picking out a wedding planner and some silk nighties?"

Laughing at Ron's scarlet ears (for he had an unpleasant visual of Harry in green lingerie), she assumed a thoughtful pose.

"Well, I suppose I should stick with you so that when this is over, I can resume my loverly role as a mistress."

Ron expertly picked up the cue. "To whom?"

"Lucius Malfoy, of course. He has so many quaint nicknames for me. My favorites are filth and mudblood." She batted her eyelashes and raised her shoulders in a coy expression. Harry laughed out loud at the preposterous notion. Ron made retching noises as he, in due turn, silently applauded Hermione: even a short, tense laugh from Harry was a hard thing to draw lately. A subtle reminder of blood ties, the main cause for the war, was a nice touch.

With the ritual complete, the moment was over. The impending battle weighed heavily on their shoulders.

_ This can't be happening. _Hermione argued pathetically. _Not now. Not yet._ She cast a sad look at her friends. A small tear slid from beneath her eyelid. Harry took a hesitant step towards her. An epiphany hit him like a bludger to the gut, this battle was different than the others. In the last two years they had encountered Voldemort, fought Death Eaters, dismantled Inferi, escaped Dementors, solved riddles, and destroyed Horcruxes. But all of that had been on _their_ ground. They had known the risks, had planned for every contingency. But this? This was new ground. He might never see his friends alive again even if he survived. Harry had always considered his own death but never that of his friends. The thought twisted his gut.

Taking another, firmer step towards her, he encircled her in a tight hug. Ron hugged her too. Taking a deep breath, Harry briefly hesitated, "You guys know that you're… well, you're my family." Hermione looked up at him, startled. She laid her head on his shoulder, and repeated the sentiment.

"You're my best friends. I love you both." Her tears fell in earnest now. She gave them a quick squeeze and released them. Swiping an impatient palm across her cheeks, she brandished her finger at them. "You two be safe! Especially you, Ron. You still have my copy of Unfortunate Unadversus. I want that back!"

With that they parted ways. Harry went to the headmaster's room, in search of Gyffindor's Sword; Ron began to patrol the first and second floor in search of lost younger students per McGonagall's order. Hermione stood, transfixed for just a moment longer. Shaking herself, she began a mental list of things that had to be done, making a mental catalogue organized by priority and proximity. Turning, she forged into the belly of the castle.

It was chaos. The wards around the school were raised, but the swarming masses of Death Eaters would eventually break through them and gain entry to the seemingly impregnable castle. And everyone knew it. Students rushed to and fro. The older students began to organize; the younger, to hide. Voices of various professors, amplified, echoed through the halls, giving instructions in tight, controlled voices. Owls zoomed through the halls. Some carried messages. Others were simply excited by the palpable tension. The picture frames were alive. Various portraits ran the length of the building carrying messages and attempting to comfort. The ghosts floated through the walls. All were silent. Even Peeves kept his tongue. You had to hand it to Hogwarts – it mobilized quickly.

Hermione was scared. Very scared.

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**A/N: So? What do you think? I think it will eventually merge into Formalities Long Forgotten. Sorry if it starts slow, it'll get good, I promise! I just wasn't happy with that (FLF) script, so expect many changes. I, however, shall expect reviews. They make me write faster, they really do!!! P **

**- 3 Cari**


	2. An Emphatic No

An Emphatic No

The floor beneath Hermione's feet quivered. Dust and mortar fell from a newly formed crevice directly above her. From her vantage point at the fourth floor window, Hermione watched the agitated mass of Death Eaters swarm forward. She had barely cleared the sixth level and would have no chance to search the Astronomy Tower, as she had planned. She would never have the time. Grinding the palms of her hand into her temples, she frantically searched for the solution. _Of course! _The Marauder's Map! _Now why hadn't she thought of that first?_

She drew the parchment from her pocket and pointed her shaking wand at it.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," she intoned, amazed that her voice was steady even when her hand was not.

A blot of ink spread from her wand tip, stretching its skinny spires into antique writing:

Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs

Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers

are proud to present

**A Helping hand**

_Well, _that's_ never happened before. But then, the Map had held surprises before, like when it had insulted Professor Snape._ Pushing those thoughts aside with a wry smile, she opened the folds of the map. The dots, normally black and idly shuffling about the parchment were now color-coded. A legend at the bottom of the page told her that red dots were in mortal danger, blue dots were, at present, safe, and black dots were intruders. Shaking softly, she identified her own dot as red. Shaking her head, she traced a route to the only red dots on the floors she was patrolling.

After giving terse instructions to the wayward students, she started towards the red dots of Harry and Ron. Her steps echoed as she rushed down the spiral staircase. With each round she risked a pause to glance out of the windows that lined the East portion of the stair tower. The Death Eaters were advancing quickly. Every few feet they ran into additional, last-minute wards, but all were discarded just as quickly as they were cast. Silently, Hermione wished that whoever was casting the wards would stop. They were simply expending energy that needed to be conserved. Almost on cue, the wards stopped.

She reached the entry-way seconds later. Amassed there stood the whole of the Order of the Pheonix and, surprisingly, Neville and Luna too. Giving them a puzzled nod, she took her place. Ron, standing to her left, put a comforting arm on her forearm.

"I activated the coins from Dumbledore's Army. Thought it couldn't hurt. They're the only ones that answered," he whispered only loud enough for her and Harry to hear.

_They must have been checking the coins periodically, _Hermione thought almost sadly. She turned slightly and caught Neville's eye. He smiled hesitantly and she winked in return.

"Miss Granger, How many are there?" McGonagall's voice cut Hermione off.

It took her a second to wonder how she should know. Taking the map out she began counting the black dots. The swarming masses kept overlapping each other, making it impossible to count. A list appeared to the right of the map, the title reading simply: Baddies.

As she counted, her eyes skimmed over the names: Alecto, Amycus…Goyle, Greyback – gulp- …Malfoy, Malfoy – damn- Nott, Mulciber.

"23 total," she said, still skimming the map. "Wait, that can't be right. Not all the dots are on the list. See," – she motioned to the map- "here's the dot of Snape, only he's not in the column."

Hermione caught the odd look that crossed the headmaster's face. "Strange" was all she said, her eyes returning to the mass of attackers now only half a Quidditch pitch away.

Harry stood flanked by Hermione and Ron. Distantly, a phoenix sang a mourning, hopeful tune.

The battle raged.

Somewhere to the South, Harry dueled with Voldemort. She could do nothing to help him. The same golden cage that blocked the Death Eaters from going to their master's aid had stopped her from going to Harry's. But Ron, Ron she could help. If only she could _find _him. Most of the fighting had drifted towards the Dark Forest, though Neville had single-handedly taken down Nott and Amycus by collapsing the Quidditch stands on top of them. When Hermione had hugged him in glee, he muttered something about Batman and minding one's surroundings. She had grinned at him stupidly before running towards another skirmish.

And now she found herself fighting her way through the thick underbrush of the forest and warily avoiding all manners of Dark monsters – creatures and man alike. She didn't want to pick a fight, she wanted to _protect._ She stumbled on a tree branch. Cursing her clumsiness, Hermione glanced around her, trying to discern if anyone had been alerted to her presence. _There!_ A flash of red between the trees. The fog made it impossible to tell which of the Weasleys stood before her, but it didn't matter. She would risk her life to protect any of them. Hermione ran towards the flash, entirely heedless of the shadow watching her.

"Ron!" she shouted, identifying her friend. His head turned toward her; his face was ashen. A cut above his eye ran red with blood.

"Run, Herm-"

Another flash of green. A streak of red…falling.

"No." Whispered. Belated. Pointless.

Her wand dropped, clattered to the floor, bounced on the cushion of fallen leaves.

No.

A black-clad figure stood over his body and raised its wand toward her. She didn't budge; her eyes were riveted on the red-haired corpse. "Don't you want to live?" the figure drawled, not caring for her answer.

No.

"Avada Ked-" A second figure, clad in black swept past her, towards the first. Second was quicker than First. As First fell, swirling black cloaks blocked Hermione's view and she snapped out of her effigy. The reality suddenly hit her. Ron was dead.

No.

She had stood, unarmed, waiting for death by Death Eater. And she had been saved by a Death Eater.

No.

The Black-clad Demon turned toward her. Moonlight found a hole in the upper story of the forest, casting an eerie glint onto the white mask that stood opposite her. He strode toward her. Hermione trembled. Tears she had been unaware of slid into her mouth, tasting salty. It was too late though; her wand was too far away. He pushed her bodily against a tree, the bark biting through the thin wool of her cloak. _What is he going to do to me?_ Hermione's mind was racing. Belatedly, it registered that perhaps he wouldn't _just_ kill her. Half-formed plans of sinister man-handling, rape, and torture tore through her mind, making her body quake and her teeth chatter.

No.

"What are you quaking for, you insipid – oh" – his hand went up. He would surely strike her, but

no

he removed his mask. "I will not harm you, Miss Granger," the voice of her Potion's Master was cold and cordial. "Now, for your safety, follow me."

"No."

She wouldn't- couldn't- leave Ron. She had seen bodies, mutilated beyond recognition. The thought of Ron's body being similarly abused was almost as painful as the thought that he would never again smile, or tease her about her boggart, or a million other things. "That wasn't a request, Miss Granger." He grabbed her hand roughly and turned to lead her from the clearing.

"No."

She stood, rooted to the spot, with more strength than Snape had given her credit for. Her gaze was once more transfixed. "I see," his voice was ice. He directed his wand toward the body. _Mobilicorpus_, he concentrated. The effort of wandless magic was prudent he deemed. No need to remind her of her loss with petty phraseology.

"Now will you come with me?" It was a statement, not a question. She _would_ come. But Hermione answered anyway:

"Yes."


	3. On Matters Of Trust

On Matters Of Trust

**Disclaimer: The characters portrayed here-in are patented property of J.K. Rowling (all glory to her name!), I merely play with her brain-babies. **

**P.S. Expect long whinges from Snape. He has flown into lecture-mode full swing!**

Hermione kept her eyes transfixed on the nape of his neck as they stumbled through the dark. She had glanced up- once- and had seen Ron, following behind them. His head bobbed at an odd angle, lolling forward then backward. She had caught his eyes, frozen open and had not looked again.

She kept her eyes transfixed on the nape of his neck. It seemed like she followed him for hours.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye- saw her flinch in pain as she saw her dead friend-saw her grow exhausted under the weight of her own limbs and of the knowledge of his death. After the second time she fell to her knees, he picked her up and cradled her to his chest. She had briefly struggled, but after only a second she was asleep, twitching fretfully at her red tinged nightmares. He looked at her face- and flinched.

What had possessed him to sulk out of the shadows? He had seen her- tearing through the brush- and had followed. The scene of Ron and Malfoy Sr. had caused his blood to run cold but he had not reacted quickly enough. But for Hermione, he had been compelled. Despite popular belief he did not hate the Golden Trio. He had little love for the buffoon and the glory-monger, but he did not wish them ill- did not want them dead. They were children fighting a man's most bloody war. And though it might be theirs to fight, it wasn't _yet_. Prophesy be damned, to begin grooming a child at eleven to battle and to kill was not just.

He looked at her face- and was reminded of the blatant pain that was etched there. Her wand bouncing would stay imprinted in his minds eye much the same as Ron's dead eyes would stay in Hermione's.

She woke as dawn spread its fingers across the horizon, silhouetting the dark trees that surrounded the small cabin. The cot she lay on was barely long enough to accommodate her body and creaked as she rose, shucking off the threadbare quilt Snape had placed over her merely hours before.

Snape himself sat in a wooden chair, next to the flickering flame of the hearth. A textbook lay open across his legs. His head, propped up by one head, was forward, swaying gently with each breath as he slumbered.

_Have I been saved by this man? Or captured? _ Hermione sat opposite him on the wooden table he used as a foot-prop. Their proximity made her nervous. Even when he slept, he terrified her. She glanced about the Spartan room, but nothing else, save a small kitchenette and a door which presumably led to the lavatory, was there. Seeing no other entertainment, Hermione gently leant forward and attempted to gingerly remove the textbook from Snape's lap.

A sharp hand grabbed her wrist. "Are you very much in the habit of stealing other people's literature, Miss Granger?"

With a start, she attempted to withdraw her hand, but Snape had not yet relinquished her wrist. With a glance, he did so.

There was a quiet, awkward pause in which both studied the other. Snape, though, broke the silence. "My apologies. I regret to inform you, Miss Granger, that we will be unable to leave the premises for at least a day. It is safer to travel at night and as it is dawn, there will be a sufficient increment of time to pass before you can return to Potter's side."

"What happened, sir?" Her voice was tremulous with fear and disuse. "Is Harry alright?"

"Yes, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter has vanquished the Dark Lord, though he is not unscathed. He will survive, no doubt. However, the multitudes of Death Eaters have not yet lost all power and malice. We are still very much in danger."

With a huff, he motioned to a crumbled copy of the Daily Prophet. "The Final Battle, has not even been mentioned, the infiltration of the Death Eaters is so complete. Or else the Ministry is so stupid as to not recognize the greatest god-send since the Fall of Grindewald."

Her bloodshot eyes went round. "You mean, even with Voldemort gone, the war isn't over?"

"Don't sound so incredulous. Many a battle have been fought though the General was lost. In many ways, Voldemort was simply a figure head, a symbol under which those who are corrupted by the misguided thought of superiority might unite. True, he organized and terrified the army, but the soldiers valued his ideals for generations before he was even born. Pureblood supremecy was not begun with Voldemort."

When she did not reply, Snape continued. "By what happened, I suppose you are inquiring as to why I saved you when I am so clearly on 'their side'?" With a hesitant nod from Hermione, he continued. "Quite simply, I am not. I am as loyal to Dumbledore as I was before I killed him."

"Indeed?" her tone carried a note of skepticism that she had, most likely, learned from Snape himself. "And why, pray tell, should I trust a word you say?"

Snape considered rebuking her lack of respect but, with a sigh, acknowledged that he did not deserve it. Hermione, if she was to trust him, was entitled an explanation. "Even the act of murder was a demonstration of loyalty. The summer before his death, Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange visited my humble abode seeking my advice on how best to protect Draco. Voldemort, angered with Lucius, sought to punish him by giving his son the impossible task of killing Dumbledore. If, by the end of the school year, Dumbledore still lived, the entire Malfoy line would be destroyed."

Hermione snorted.

"You think, perhaps, that it is no pity? Lucius, I give you, is demented. But what has Narcissa done? Or Draco? Narcissa's only crime is to be blind to the faults of those who surround her. She loves her husband and her son. Draco is a spoiled bully. That is neither a crime nor a reason to be damned. He has been exposed, since infancy to the whims of his father. He parrots those ideals, yet he does not live them. He picked on you, Potter, and Weasley" –her eyes dropped- "equally though you are the only Muggle-born."

"In any event, Bellatrix challenged my loyalty to the Dark Lord, which in point of fact was perceptive of her. In order to convince her and Narcissa I took an Unbreakable Oath that I would help Draco in anyway that I could and, at the last moment, Narcissa added I must complete the task if Draco did not."

He paused, gauging her reaction. "So you are loyal to Voldemort?" she looked dumb-founded, "After all those years defending you, I was wrong."

"No. As stated, I am loyal to Albus. It was my intent to report to Dumbledore the Unbreakable Vow. By taking it, I assured Bellatrix of my false- loyality, ensuring my position for at least the rest of the school year. I was spared the wrath of Bella and the Dark Lord. I had no intention of killing Dumbledore.—"

"So you were just going to die?" Her quirked eyebrow dared him to disagree.

"Yes. I had little chance of surviving the upcoming battles. I dodged both the Aurors and the Death Eaters. If either found me out, I would have died a most excruciating death. Exposure would have damned me. Dumbledore, though, would have been swift with his dispatch. The thought of a painless death was very much appealing."

Hermione sat, stunned by his casual dismissal of death. Quietly, as though she did want the answer, she asked, "Then why did you kill him?"

"Because he made me swear to it. He wished to sacrifice his own life to save Draco. Of the three of us, he was the only innocent. Surely you noticed that he had begun to set his affairs in order?" –he sighed a tired sigh- "Also, Dumbledore was already dying. Earlier that evening he had ingested a fair amount of time delayed poison. Given enough time, I could have distilled the antidote and perhaps saved him, but I hadn't the time."

"Do you think I _wanted _to kill him? Dumbledore was the only one in the world who trusted me and, by extension, the only one I could trust in return. Without him, I have lost my chance at redemption." His words came quickly, in anger and were greated with silence.

Tentatively, she reached out her hand and placed it on his forearm.

"I trust you, sir."


End file.
